The Senator went with me to Memphis to meet Copeland Maffet. I was nervous and apprehensive of failure, but the old gentleman was steady and strong with the assurance of success. "You are worried," he said to me as we stood at the bow of the steamer. "Throw it off, for you are now associated with a man who has never been introduced to a failure. No, Sir, and they can't down us. When I first came out for office they told me that I had no earthly show. And what did I do? I took one fellow by the shoulders, turned him round and kicked him off the courthouse steps. One of my friends? Yes, he claimed he was, but let me tell you, Belford, that a man's gone if he lets his so-called friends run to him with discouragements. The only friend worthy of the name is the man who doesn't believe you can be beaten. I'd rather have a strong enemy than a weak friend."

We found Maffet waiting for us at a hotel. The Senator greeted him out of the gorgeousness of his effusive nature, and refused to be daunted by the cool, business air of the manager.

"Mr. Maffet," said the Statesman, "we have brought you something, Sir, that will astonish you. And, Sir, you'll not regret that you came all the way from New York to get a chance to put in your bid."

"I have other business that brought me here, Mr.—"

"That's all right, but you'll forget all about your other business before we are done with you. Ah, Belford, I've got a little knocking round to do, and I'll leave you to read your play to Mr. Maffet. Good old name. By the way, Mr. Maffet, are you related, Sir, to the Maffets of Virginia?"

"I think not. My people settled in Vermont," said the manager.

"Same old family, Sir; best stock in England. Won't you join us in a drink of some sort, Sir?"

"No, thank you, I've just got up from the table."

"Ah, yes, Sir. But make yourself perfectly at home in this town. I know a great many people here, and all my friends will be glad to welcome you. And you'll find my friend here (motioning toward me) as bright as a judge and as straight as a string. Well, I'll be back by the time you get through with your reading."

I went with the manager to his room, and if he had been cool before, he now was freezing.

"Well, go ahead."

I read the first act, glancing at him from time to time; but no change passed over his implacable countenance. He sat with his eyes shut.

"Go ahead."

I read the second act; but the droll representatives of a fun-growing soil did not crack the crust of his countenance.

"Well, go on."

I had now lost hope, and with scarcely a pause I hurried to the end of the last act. He opened his eyes, got up, walked to the window, looked out, whistled softly and then turned to me.

"You've got some great people there. The comedy part is excellent."

"Ah, you don't laugh at comedy," I was bold enough to declare.

"Well, not when I'm buying it. Let me have it a moment."

He stepped forward with a look of interest in his eyes, and took the play.

"In Magnolia Land, by—what's this? By The Elephant? What do you mean by that?"

"My pen name."

"Oh, it's all right enough; odd, and that counts."

"And if you decide to take the play, I don't want my name known; and if any speculation should arise as to who the Elephant may be, you are to say you don't know, even if anyone should assert positively that I am the man. I want it to be a winner before I acknowledge it."

"All right. It will raise newspaper talk, and that would help. Yes, I'll agree to put it on if we can come to terms, and especially if you'll consent to consider the suggestions which I may send to you. A play, you know, is never finished. I'll read it over carefully and make notes. As this is your first venture you can't very well expect an advance royalty."

I had not expected it, and I did not ask it. Indeed, I was delighted with the prospect of a production, and I began to think that there must be something in my alliance with a man who never had made the acquaintance of a failure. We agreed upon a percentage of gross receipts, and went down stairs to dictate the contract to the hotel stenographer. And just as we were ready for his name the Senator walked in.

"We insist that it shall be put on in good shape," said he, assuming that the deal had of course been made. "Let me see the contract. Yes," he said, when he had looked at the top, the middle and the bottom, "that appears to be about the proper thing. Just let me put my name on it. But we must have witnesses, eh? Well, you just wait till I go out and bring in two of as fine gentlemen as you ever saw, from two of our oldest families, Sir. One of them can write as fine a hand as you can catch up with anywhere; he used to be Clerk of our House of Representatives. Wait till I go after them."

"Oh, anybody will do, Colonel," the manager replied. "I haven't time to wait on an old family."

"All right," said the Senator, with his hat in the air. "If you don't recognize the advantage of respectability, I shall not insist upon it. We'll get these two hotel clerks back here. They look like gentlemen, Sir."

Many a day had gone by since my longing heart had fluttered with lightness. And now it was beating high with an exultant hope; but its time of joy was short. The memory of a deep voice weighted it with sadness—a voice and the words: "Any man can make a promise, but sometimes it requires a gentleman to break one."

As we stood in the bow of the boat and gazed toward the lights on the wharf at Bolanyo, the Senator put his hand upon my arm and said: "My boy, that fellow Maffet is a shrewd fellow, from shrewd Yankee stock, and he would have cheated you out of your teeth if I hadn't come along. Yes, Sir, out of your teeth."